


Cosmic Uncertainty

by domesticadventures



Series: hilariously late christmas prompts [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: There’s nothing to it, really -- a lingering touch here, a fond glance there, knees bumping under tables, shoulders pressed together as they lean in to whisper conspiratorially. All in all, it’s been surprisingly easy pretending to be married to Cas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: hilariously late christmas prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/494491
Comments: 25
Kudos: 454





	Cosmic Uncertainty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Guu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guu/gifts).



“No, I’m not fucking kidding,” Sam had said, “and yes, this really is the only way.”

It had seemed genuinely fake that any place could have good enough security or competent enough employees that they couldn’t get in to investigate using some good old-fashioned fake IDs, but whatever. Dean saw the official price tag for this whole ordeal and was willing to do a little acting for a week during which he would get a nice room and all the food he could eat and in return would only be expected to complete a single hunt.

Their contact on the inside had assured them that something strange was going on, but by the third night, he’s starting to wonder. There hasn’t been anything particularly off about the whole thing, unless you count the handful of couples who he can tell are actively trying not to murder each other solely for the sake of keeping up appearances.

And honestly? It’s been pretty great. Dean had been a little nervous about the whole thing at first -- that it would be weird and forced, that someone would confront them and call their bluff. But so far, no one has batted an eye, and at this point, he feels like he’s doing a stellar fucking job, if he does say so himself. There’s nothing to it, really -- a lingering touch here, a fond glance there, knees bumping under tables, shoulders pressed together as they lean in to whisper conspiratorially. All in all, it’s been surprisingly easy pretending to be married to Cas.

Even the nights have been less awkward than he might have imagined. Dean keeps waking up with some part of Cas inadvertently splayed across him, an arm draped over his chest or an ankle crossing his own. It leaves him with a warm, affectionate feeling that he attributes to nostalgia, some misplaced longing for the shared beds of his childhood, some memory of Sam and his long, unavoidable limbs.

By the time they hit the campfire on the third night, Dean can admit he’s getting a little complacent. There’s been no sign of supernatural activity, and nothing to really go off other than their contact’s vague insistence that something else is going on here. Dean has put it to the back of his mind and is instead enjoying the entertainment for the evening, which involves Cas, a few drinks in, t alking animatedly with one of the other attendees -- an astrophysicist whose name escapes him at the moment, Kathy? Kelly? Something like that -- about the theoretical end of the universe.

Actually, they’re not just theorizing about it; they’re talking about which version is their favorite. Cas, who it occurs to Dean might really, actually know how the universe is going to end, is arguing in favor of something called The Big Crunch. Despite the fact that a lot of the more technical details have flown completely over Dean’s head, Cas has done his best to keep him involved in the conversation, to keep selling their story -- he looks over at Dean every now and then, smiling, and he leans into him a little more as the nighttime chill creeps in.

Somewhere between talk of the big freeze versus heat death, as their conversation gets more and more jargon-y and Dean starts to zone out, he looks over to Dr. Astrophysicist’s wife. He’s planning to commiserate, to make what frankly is going to be a hilarious joke about both of them being trophy spouses, but the expression on her face derails him. There’s something in that look that he recognizes -- some relief, he thinks, the same relief he had felt when he realized they weren’t the only same-sex couple there. But there’s something else there, too, something knowing, like she’s seeing more of him that he meant to show.

And the thing is -- he knows that look.  He hasn’t seen it in this exact context before, because he’s never been in this exact situation before, but nonetheless  there’s something terribly, frighteningly familiar about it. For a second he doesn’t understand why, and then it clicks. He flips back through his mental catalogue and has the sudden, startling realization that he’s lost track of the number of times he’s seen that look from Sam.

Of all the fucking things, that’s what does it. Not the ten thousand knowing glances from Sam, but the one knowing look from a stranger.

To be fair, it’s not like he ever had the appropriate knowledge before. He’s lived a weird fucking life, and it’s not like he’s had a lot of friends that stuck around for as long as Cas has. He’s always known their relationship was intense, but he kind of just assumed he was doing friendship wrong. And besides, how many people do the shit they do, watch people die and mourn them and have them come back to life? How many people are pulled from literal hell by angels who rebel against the heavenly host and say things like  _ I did it, all of it, for you _ ? It’s not like anyone told him how the fuck someone is supposed to feel about all that.

For the first time during this whole absurd week, he feels embarrassed and kind of stupid as he looks over at Cas and thinks,  _ Holy shit, I’ve been in love with you this whole goddamn time. _

Which is when Cas notices Dean staring intensely at the side of his face, turns towards him, smiles at him, and casually presses a kiss to the side of his jaw before returning to his conversation.

It had been okay before, when it was pretend, but now, just like that, it makes Dean’s chest ache, the way Cas is looking at him, leaning into him, putting on a show for these people they don’t even know just to give them the cover they need to investigate.

He has to get out of here, get away from this, and so he waits for a pause in the conversation and bows out, mutters an excuse about being tired, but don’t cut the evening short on his account, really, it’s okay. He ignores Cas’ concerned frown and retreats to their room.

Mostly, Dean is hoping that he can lie down, stare at the wall, have a quiet existential crisis, and be asleep by the time Cas gets back. He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed and has just settled into phase one of his stare-at-the-wall-and-freak-out plan when Cas throws a wrench in the whole thing. He stumbles a little as he enters the room and tries to shut the door quietly behind himself, as he slips out of his shoes and strips down to his t-shirt and boxers, and then -- and then he slides into bed and curls around Dean, nudges his face into the back of Dean’s neck and wraps an arm around his waist, and jeez, he must have had more to drink than Dean realized.

Dean’s heart immediately starts doing double time. He wonders if Cas can feel it where his hand is resting gently against Dean’s chest.

“Cas,” he says, quietly. “You don’t have to do this right now. No one is watching.”

There’s a long pause in which Cas just breathes and Dean tries not to shudder as it tickles the hair at the back of his neck, but then Cas mumbles a “Sorry” and pulls away, rolls over and turns to face the opposite wall, leaving a good couple feet between them.

Somehow, that feels even shittier, which just feels unfair at this point.

The distance between them is still there the next morning. All of the easiness of the past few days is gone, and in its place is a painfully stiff sort of formality. Cas, already up and dressed, looks somewhere off to Dean’s left as he says, “It’s an emotion eater. One of the staff. I don’t think they’re hurting anyone. We can talk to them today to confirm, and then we can leave.”

“I--” Dean starts. Stops. “Okay.”

Cas nods. “I’ll see you at breakfast.” And then he’s gone.

The worst part is that all of Cas’ enthusiasm has gone, too, and now he’s just flatly plodding through the day, waiting for the hours to pass so they can finish the job and go. Dean doesn’t get it. He thought Cas would be relieved at best and indifferent at worst, but this reaction? He can’t figure it out. He doesn’t believe Cas’ insistence that he’s just hungover; he knows Cas better than that. It has to be something else.

He thinks about it through breakfast, through the morning activities that really just amount to rich people arts and crafts, through lunch, all of which they complete with enough space between them to leave plenty of room for Jesus. He hadn’t even realized it, how much they had been casually brushing up against each other as they went about their day, how much time Cas had spent making extremely intentional eye contact, but he feels the absence of it now, and it sucks.

_ Christ,  _ he thinks,  _ did I really get that used to it just over the course of a few days? _

He gets to feel stupid all over again when he finally realizes that no, he hadn’t. The reason all that shit had felt so normal, all the indulgent glances, the lingering touches, is because that’s how they’ve been acting towards one another for years.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s Sam, checking in:  _ Any progress? Eta? _

Dean spends a few minutes looking back and forth between his phone and Cas’ clenched jaw before he sends back,  _ Still working on it. Might need a couple more days. _

He corners Cas in their room that evening, stopping him before he can head out to interrogate the alleged target in the free hour before dinner. “So,” he says, aiming for casual, “how long have you known about the emotion eater?”

Across the room, Cas tenses. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters.”

Cas still isn’t meeting his gaze, has opted instead to stare miserably at the floor, “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know I overstepped. I just…” He stops, swallows hard. “It won’t happen again.”

Dean drags a hand down over his face. “Cas, I’m not…C’mon. How long?”

He glances up at Dean before guiltily looking away. “Since the first day,” he admits.

He doesn’t feel stupid, this time, as the last piece clicks into place. He just needed that final confirmation that Cas, who has been around for millennia, who saw humanity in its infancy, who almost certainly knows how all of existence will end, dragged this hunt out for no other reason than because he wanted to spend a few more days being absolutely mundanely human with Dean.

He’s feeling surprisingly confident as he closes the distance between them in a few long strides, as he crowds into Cas’ space and kisses him. It doesn’t have any of the easy swagger of the past few days, but he’s not trying to play a role; he’s trying to make a point.

The noise Cas makes as Dean kisses him is soft and surprised, but the breath he lets out after is something else -- maybe it’s excitement that makes it stutter, or maybe he’s just scared.

Cas looks from one of Dean’s eyes to the other, brow furrowed. “No one is watching,” he says, quietly.

“I know.”

Maybe Cas is coming to his own realization, because at that, he smiles at Dean for the first time since yesterday evening, slow and tentative.

He’s still smiling when he grabs Dean by the hands and pulls him back in.

**Author's Note:**

> [here's](https://domesticadventures.tumblr.com/post/626014558117593088/cosmic-uncertainty-deancas-2k-ao3-for) a rebloggable version on tumblr if you're so inclined!


End file.
